The Siege of Barad dur
by Uvatha the Horseman
Summary: Barad-dûr is besieged by the Last Alliance for seven years.
1. Year 1 The Black Gates are Breached

**Year 1 - The Black Gates are Breached**

Second Age 3435

**Asking for Terms**

Er-Mûrazor[1], Chief of the Nazgûl and the greatest of Sauron's generals, addressed the High Council.

"The Black Gates have been breached. Enemy forces have already crossed Udûn and are about to reach the Gorgoroth plain."

"What forces do we have in Gorgoroth?" said Sauron.

"We have some, but not enough. Most of the army has been slaughtered." Er-Mûrazor.

"We've never suffered a military defeat of this magnitude. Before they overrun us completely, I'm going to see if we can't reach a diplomatic solution."

"Meaning?" asked his Chief Ambassador, a Black Númenorian.

"I'm going to ask for terms. If they agree to withdraw, I'll agree to stay within Mordor and not attack them again. If necessary, I'll give them my oath."

"If they don't accept, do you have a fallback offer?"

He kept his eyes straight ahead. Khamûl saw a muscle twitch in his jaw.

"Tell them I'd do obeisance to one of their kings to retain control of my lands. Make it Elendil. The oath that makes me his servant will expire when he dies, and unlike Gil-galad, he has a mortal man's lifespan. Three hundred years at the most, and I'll be free again."

"If you become a vassal, he'll expect you to pay tribute. Can you afford to?"

"If it's in gold and gemstones, then yes. If it's in grain or horses, then no. Be sure to spell that out when you make the offer."

"If they cross Gorgoroth and reach the gates of Lugbúrz, I might agree to become their hostage. However, I won't make the offer until they've started to break down the gates.

"No. Whatever happens, don't let them take you prisoner." said Er-Mûrazor.

"Why not? Ar-Pharazôn took me hostage. It was humiliating, but he didn't hurt me."

"Ar-Pharazôn made war against you when you called yourself 'Lord of the Earth'. You were a rival warlord. He had no grudge against you personally. This is different. The Elves still want revenge for Eregion, and the King of Gondor holds you responsible for the destruction of Númenor."

"What do you think they would do to me?" asked Sauron.

"I don't know, but I don't think you would like it." said Er-Mûrazor.

**The Invaders' Camp**

The battle of Dagorlad was over. The attacking forces had broken the gates of the Morannon. Gil-Galad and Elendil, with their advisor, sat in Gil-galad's tent discussing their next move.

"No one ever broke through the Black Gates before. We'll press on and assail Barad-dûr itself." said Gil-galad.

"And when we get inside the DarkTower, then what?" said Círdan.

"Remember why we launched this campaign. This time, we don't just want to defeat Sauron. We want him gone forever. We're going to kill him." said Gil-galad

"We won't accept his surrender. He's too dangerous to leave alive. Remember when Ar-Pharazôn took him hostage. It cost him his life, as well as the lives of most of the Númenorian people, and the island of Númenor itself. I don't plan to make the same mistake." said Elendil.

"Is it even possible to kill him? He's a demon." said Anárion.

"Why do you say he's a demon?" asked Elendil. "I was at court in Armenelos when he was brought there as a hostage and exhibited in public. I thought there was something 'off' about him, but I didn't know what it was. Then he persuaded our King to make human sacrifice to Morgoth, and I knew he was a monster. Not a demon, just a monster of the human kind."

"He is a demon. He showed himself in his true form at the battle of Sarn Ford. He was black and terrible, with flames running over his skin." said Gil-galad.

"I saw him in his true form as well, when he attacked Ost-in-Edhil. His eyes were like embers, glowing red. He didn't have a flaming whip like other Balrogs usually do, he had a flaming mace." said Erestor.

"Demons can be killed. Tuor killed Gothmog in the Battle of Gondolin, and Gothmog was Sauron's equal." said Elrond.

"Balrogs were killed in large numbers in the First Age. It can be done." said Círdan.

**An Emissary from Mordor**

An emissary came to Gil-galad's tent under a flag of truce. He was dressed in black and wore the badge of the Lidless Eye, like all officials of Mordor.

"My Master sends you greetings."

He pulled out a thick bundle of parchment, with red tapes threaded through it, and sealed with official looking seals. A watercolor decoration of a heraldic device, the Lidless Eye, decorated its surface.

"I have come to offer terms. If you depart this land, my Master agrees to stay within its borders as defined by the encircling mountains." said the emissary.

"How do we know he'd keep his word?"

"He is prepared to give his oath."

"Give us a few minutes to discuss this in private."

After the emissary left, they discussed the offer. Erestor was buoyant.

"We've won! Remember the last time, when Gil-galad pushed him back into Mordor after the Battle of Sarn Ford, and Tharbad? He retreated into Mordor and stayed there for seventeen hundred years." said Thranduil.

"And bound by an oath, he might be contained within Mordor indefinitely."

"Not good enough. We don't just want to defeat him this time, we want him gone." said Gil-galad.

They called the emissary back.

"I'm sorry, but after careful consideration, we've decided not to accept your offer. I regret you've come here on a fruitless errand." said Gil-galad.

"I have a second offer." the emissary said. He pulled out another parchment bundle with the same red tape and heraldic decorations as the first.

"In addition to remaining within Mordor, my Master will do obeisance to Tar-Elendil for his realm, and pay a tribute in gold."

"Would you like to hear the terms we would accept?" asked Gil-galad.

The emissary nodded.

"Hand him over. If you do, we'll depart this land, and leave the rest of you in peace."

"Our quarrel is not with you, it's with him." said Elendil.

"It would be wise to accept. We plan to march on Barad-dûr, break down its gates, and slay every living creature within. Every member of the nobility will be hanged, including you and you family." said Gil-galad.

"He doesn't have to come willingly." Elendil said. "Let's say he failed to put the interest of his people before his own. And if cooler heads prevailed and took matters into their own hands .. well, that would satisfy our requirements, too."

"Or suppose resolved itself on its own. What if he died of natural causes? Suppose he slipped on the stairs, drowned in the bath, or fell from a high wall. Just show us his body, and we'll leave. If he dies, none of the rest of you will be harmed."

"I think I've heard enough." the emissary said stiffly. He got up to leave.

"They rejected the first offer, and didn't even listen to the second. They want only one thing, to make you their prisoner." said the Chief Ambassador.

"Did they say anything else?" said Sauron.

The Chief Ambassador looked uncomfortable. "Only minor things, insults not worth repeating."

**The Pass of the Spider**

Khamûl climbed to highest point on the road. On his right, a near-vertical face of rock rose hundreds of feet above the road. On his left was a shear drop.

He was here to repel any attempt by Gondor's forces to enter Mordor through the only pass in the encircling mountains. It was warm in the lowlands, but up here, the icy wind whipped his robes and hair and made his teeth chatter.

He looked west, down into a broad valley in the foothills of the Ephel Duluth. From his vantage point, he could just make out the outlines of Minas Ithil, the fortress Gondor. It was built to control this road, which ran from Osgiliath, the capital of Gondor, to Lugbúrz, the capital of Mordor.

Five years ago, the Captain of the Nazgûl led an assault on Gondor and captured Minas Ithil[2]. Unfortunately, the aggression against Gondor provoked a counter-attack even larger and more aggressive than the one that drove Sauron from Eriador, hundreds of years before Khamûl was born.

When the Last Alliance threatened their northern borders, Er-Mûrazôr was recalled to defend the Morannon, and Minas Ithil was quickly recaptured by Gondor.

Every day Khamûl received news of the war. How they suffered a terrible defeat at Dagorlad. How they retreated behind the Black Gates of the Morannon, but the Gates had been breached. How the forces of the West pursued them across Udûn, inflicting even greater losses.

The trouble was, by the time he received it, the news was two or three days old. Khamûl was extremely anxious about what was happening right now, what might already have happened within the last day or two, but there was nothing he could do about it.

A few days ago, the skies over Mordor were black, and the fires of Orodruin were burning brighter than he'd ever seen them during his lifetime.

Today, the low-hanging overcast was being pushed back by blue sky from the west. It was already overhead, and was moving further east. Something was wrong. He turned around and walked back to the tents of his men.

"Chief, there's a message for you." Khamûl's second-in-command told him.

He called over the messenger, who handed Khamûl a note. It was from a scout, a forward observer who observed the battle from a distance and wrote dispatches about it.

The note was dated two days ago. It said the attackers advanced across Gorgoroth toward Lugbúrz. During the retreat, the army of Mordor was cut to pieces. The attackers reached the walls of Lugbúrz itself and flung themselves against its gates, but their numbers were sorely reduced as well, and the gates held. Thwarted, they encircled the fortress and appeared to have settled in for a long siege.

Khamûl held the letter, deafened by a roaring in his ears. He folded the letter and put it away. He turned to his second-in-command.

"You're in charge. I need to go to Lugbúrz."

He retrieved Chant from the place where they tied up their horses, and galloped east as fast as he could.

**Stay or Go**

At Orodruin, he paused at a fork in the road. On the right, the road led to the causeway leading to Lugbúrz. On the left was the path they called Sauron's Road. It would take him up the cinder cone to the Sammath Naur.

On impulse, he turned left. He climbed high above the plane of Gorgoroth as the path circled the back of the BurningMountain. When he rounded the first bend, he was startled by how close and how large Lugbúrz was. Then his heart sank. The fortress was encircled by besiegers. Their tents must have numbered in the thousands.

He saw mounds with smoke rising from them. It took him a moment to realize they were pyres. The bodies of the fallen were being consumed by fire. He also saw huge trenches that appeared to be mass graves.

Khamûl didn't know what to do. He knew what he should do, go into the fortress and join his Master. There was a secret entrance, he knew more or less where it was. But he could also go somewhere else and wait until the siege was lifted. Khamûl wasn't really needed in Lugbúrz, he'd just be an extra mouth to feed.

Lugbúrz was built to withstand a siege, although in its two thousand year long history, it had never been put to the test. On the other hand, his Master was a veteran of the siege of Angband in the First Age, which lasted a hundred and twenty years. A five year siege would be nothing to him.

Khamûl had pretty much decided to go into hiding and wait until the siege was lifted. If he took off his ring, Sauron couldn't summon him back. He pulled it off and held it in the palm of his hand. Except that he was worried about his Master's safety. He wanted to see him, to know for sure that he was all right.

What do you really want to do? Decide now.

He put it back on.

**A Secret Entrance to Barad-dûr**

Khamûl climbed the road toward the promontory on which Lugbúrz perched. The BurningMountain was at his back, and the camps of the besiegers lay between him and the fortress of Lugbúrz. Most of the campfires were out at this hour, but there were still sentries patrolling the perimeter.

Khamûl noticed the scrubby vegetation that used to be around Lugbúrz was gone. He also noticed they'd started building earthenwork fortifications around the besieged fortress. If anyone attempted to leave the fortress, they'd have to climb a formidable earthen wall with no cover to hide behind.

As much as he regretted it, he had to give up Charm. He undid the girth strap to loosen the saddle, then removed the bridle. When he was done, he slapped him across the haunches and watched him trot away. Maybe someone in the besiegers' camp would find him and give him a new home.

With his horse gone, it was time to get rid of everything that made him visible to the living. He undid the clasp on his mantle and let it fall to the ground, then tossed his gloves on top of it. Even though he was invisible, he couldn't walk through the enemy camp because the more powerful Elves would be able to see him.

He was looking for the entrance to a tunnel. It was near the road, but not so near that it would be found by accident. There was a flickering orange light from the fire, but it cast deep shadows in the heavily bouldered landscape.

He found the entrance. It was concealed behind a steel door at the back of a deep crevice in the rock. The door was crafted to look like stone, and held shut by enchantments. He worried that he wouldn't remember the counter-charm, or wouldn't be able to lift the door, or that the rusty hinges would scream and give him away. Once inside, he sealed the door shut again. He didn't want to be followed.

Inside the tunnel, it was entirely, completely dark. He could see in the dark, but not in absolute dark like this. He took out a morgul blade and made it glow. The light was weak, but it was enough.

The floor of the tunnel was sandy, and reasonably level. He had to crouch to avoid hitting his head, and in some places he had to turn sideways to squeeze through. Finally it widened into a small antechamber. There was a heavy door in the far wall. He pulled it toward him, went into a second chamber, and barred the door behind him. He'd never been here before, but it looked like a sally port for one person.

He used the pommel of his morgul blade to pound on the second door. He pounded again, then noticed the pull chord beside the door. He pulled on it, and after a few minutes, someone addressed him through the eye-level grating in the door.

"Who goes there?"

"Khamûl the Easterling, Second Chief of the Nazgûl."

"I can't identify you. I can't even see you."

"Fetch someone who can. Any of the Nazgûl will do."

**Homecoming**

After the High Nazgûl identified him, Khamûl climbed the stairs to the main level of Lugbúrz to be received by his Master. The heavy doors of the audience chamber were opened for him by the elite soldiers who made up his Master's personal guard.

He stepped into the room. The first step into the chamber that held the Dark Throne was always thrilling. He never got tired of it. He walked toward the dais with confidence.

"Khamûl! You're back!"

His Master stood before the Dark Throne. It was an impressive sight. Khamûl knew he rarely sat during audiences, because the black marble was so cold.

Khamûl reached the base of the dais and bowed to his Master. When he straightened up, Sauron gathered him in his arms and embraced him.

* * *

[1] Er-Mûrazôr ('Black Prince') was the name taken by the son of Tar-Ciryatan, twelfth king of Númenor, when he joined the Black Númenorians. Later, in the middle of the Third Age when Er-Mûrazôr established his realm in Fornost, he assumed the title, 'The Witch King of Angmar'. Khamûl the Easterling is the only Nazgûl specifically named by Tolkien. ("The Witch King" is a title.)

Iron Crown Enterprises (ICE), published handbooks full of maps, city plans, timelines, and cultural detail as gap filler for CCG players. Iron Crown Enterprises gave names and backstories to all the Nazgûl. They are, in the order they accepted a ring:

1. The Witch King of Angmar, Tindomul (second son of Ciryatan 12th King of Númenor), known as Er-Mûrazor the Black Prince

2. Khamûl the Easterling, Lieutenant of Dol Guldur

3. Dwar of Waw

4. Indur Dawndeath

5. Akhorahil the Blind Physician

6. Hoarmûrath of Dir

7. Adûnaphel the Quiet, the only female Nazgûl, and Akhorahil's niece (whom Tolkien describes as "Khamûl's companion in Dol Guldur")

8. Ren the Unclean (of unclean mind, crazy)

9. Uvatha the Horseman

[2] Minas Ithil was occupied by Mordor from SA 3029-3034, and again from TA 2002-3019. The Ithil Stone was captured and the fortress was renamed Minas Morgul during the second occupation, in the Third Age.


	2. Year 2 Taking Stock

**Year 2 – Taking Stock**

Second Age 3436

**How To Reduce Our Numbers**

Khamûl walked through the empty spaces where Dwar used to kennel his dogs. He heard his footsteps echoing off the bare stone walls. He thought back to that Council meeting not long after the siege began. Their Master sat at the head of the table. Every seat was filled, and lesser nobles stood against the walls.

"Let me deliver all the bad news at once. We'll have to reduce the number of people within these walls. In battle, we need as many forces as possible, but in a siege, we're defended by the fortress itself. The fewer mouths to feed, the longer we can hold out." said Sauron.

Khamûl thought of the wells in every courtyard in Lugbúrz. They were said to reach a thousand feet into the earth. They'd never be thirsty here.

"How will you reduce the numbers?"

"We've been fighting a lot of sorties, and experiencing the usual amount of attrition through losses. If necessary, we can increase the number of sorties. Also, we can no longer afford many domestic servants, but I expect they'll be allowed to pass through enemy lines unharmed."

"Will you negotiate their safety ahead of time?" asked the Chief Ambassador.

"No, a request for safe passage would be refused. Besiegers always want to increase the numbers inside the walls, not decrease them."

Khamûl remembered how, when the Black gates were broken and they first fell back to Lugbúrz, the attackers drove the remnants of the army toward the fortress. But Sauron ordered the gates sealed. He watched from the walls as their own people were cut to pieces by enemy forces, within a stone's throw of safety.

It was then that Khamûl understood, for the first time, how utterly ruthless his Master really was. He had looked at him then, and felt fear.

He went to speak to him later, but found him distant an inaccessible.

"We'll keep the horses until their straw runs out. Let's not feed them grain, though. We'll have to save their oats for ourselves."

The only two horses left were the Witch King's big warhorse, which they needed for sorties, and Uvatha's racehorse, the fastest they'd ever had.

"We can keep the chickens a while longer, as long as they're laying eggs and can fend for themselves. But we can't afford luxuries like pets anymore." He looked at Dwar. "I'm sorry." Dwar nodded stoically, and no more was said about it.

Khamûl liked animals, and liked to visit the kennels where Dwar kept his hunting dogs. Luna had a litter of puppies, and he knew all their names. He didn't know whether he should go to the kennels to say goodbye to them, or harden his heart and not think of them again.

"There's one more thing. We won't celebrate Yule this year. Yule means twelve days of feasting. Until the siege is lifted, we can't afford it."

They moved on to routine matters. Sergeants came in to give reports on the results of sorties. Clerks gave reports on the inventory of food, which, given the current number of people within these walls, would last for almost two years.

"Not good enough. Let's aim for five years." said Sauron.

Khamûl, a skilled tactician, computed the smallest number of soldiers needed to defend the fortress. Another clerk provided the number of domestic servants, and an estimate of the smallest number they could get by with.

"Four years, ten months." said the clerk.

In the middle of the discussion, Dwar shoved back his chair and fled the room. The High Nazgûl rose to follow him, but Sauron put a hand on his arm.

"Leave him be." said Sauron.

**Inventory of the Storerooms**

Khamûl entered one of the storerooms, following a clerk. They were going to inventory the contents of the room, and repeat the inventory periodically, to make sure supplies weren't disappearing in an unexplained way.

The barrel vaulted chamber was filled to the ceiling with barrels. Contents and weight was painted on the lid of each, flour, sugar, tea, oats, barley, dried peas, dried fruit, cabbage in vinegar, lard and cooking oil. Almost year into the siege, there were still a few apples, turnips, and potatoes. With luck, they would last for several more months.

They'd never expected the Black Gate to be breached, or to be driven back across Udûn so quickly. Yet they were well provisioned. The storerooms held provisions for another four years, and possibly even more if they rationed carefully.

A day later, Khamûl was summoned by the clerk, who was in a great state of agitation.

"The cook opened a barrel of flour, and found it was full of sand. We opened up several more, and they were the same, sand."

"We need to find out how many are like that. And if it there was just one cheating merchant, or if it's a widespread practice."

There spent the next several days opening every cask in every storeroom. There were eight barrels filled with sand, all from the same merchant. However, it was discovered that some of the barrels had spoiled. They'd gotten wet, or had never been sealed properly, and the grain they held was black with mold.


	3. Year 3 Propaganda

**Year 3 – Propaganda**

Second Age 3437

**Falling Rock**

Khamûl stood beside his Master, who was leaning with his elbows on the battlements, looking at the besiegers below. Their camps were spread across the plane of Gorgoroth, far below the foundations of the fortress of Lugbúrz.

Khamûl sensed danger, a shadow? a whistling sound? He flung himself against his Master, making him stagger.

"Khamûl, what the ..!"

A spray of stone shrapnel struck Khamûl in the back. Someone screamed.

Sauron, bleeding from a cut on his cheekbone, stared at a spot over Khamûl's shoulder. Khamûl turned around. About ten feet away from them was a pile of broken rock, surrounded by smaller fragments. White stone dust rose from the pile like smoke.

One of the soldiers said, "A stone fell from the tower above us. It must have come loose somehow."

**Propaganda**

Fist sized rocks landed within the fortress, with notes wrapped around them. Khamûl picked one up and unwrapped it. The message was written in Black Speech.

"Save yourself and your family. Open the Main Gate or a sally port and end the siege. You will not be harmed."

He was about to burn the note in a torch, but then he noticed more rocks wrapped in paper on the walkway. He asked one of the soldiers if he'd seen rocks with paper and string wrapped around them.

"Aye, there have been lots of them, for some weeks now. I can't read, though."

A few days later, Khamûl found two more.

"End the siege. Kill the Wizard."

"It's easy. Stab him. Poison him. Push him off a wall."

His mouth went dry. He gathered up the sheets of paper and looked for his Master.

**Main Gate Tampered**

"The High Nazgûl wants to see you right away!"

Khamûl followed the solder who'd come to fetch him to the Main Gate, where Er-Mûrazor and a number of others were examining the lock and barring mechanism.

"Look at this. It's been sabotaged." Er-Mûrazor said. Khamûl looked at the place he was pointing. He didn't see anything.

"This piece of metal has been cut, and so has this one. At this point, only two brackets hold this bar in place. I'm worried we'll see the same thing at the attachment points for the other two bars."

"I'll keep looking. Go wake our Master, and tell him what happened."

Khamûl hesitated. Because of his rank, Er-Mûrazor was the one who woke their Master when they needed him during the night.

"Or I could look for damage to the Gate, and you could wake him." Khamûl said.

"Do you even have the ability to interpret what you saw?"

Khamûl admitted he didn't.

"Just go. You know where his private quarters are. The door at the back of his study leads to his bed chamber. And just so you know, he's hard to wake." He turned his attention back to the sabotaged gate.

Khamûl hiked through the warren of streets inside the curtain wall, and entered the DarkTower through a huge arched gate. Inside, he climbed staircase after staircase to reach the upper levels of the tower. He found the right corridor, and located the door leading to his Master's study. He'd been here before. Sauron summoned him to this room sometimes, when he wished to speak to him alone.

He tapped on the door and listened for an answer. He tried again, only louder. He waited until he was sure there would be no answer, and then tried the latch. The door pushed open under his hand. He stepped into the room, feeling unsure of himself.

The room was dark, except for the faint orange light from embers glowing in a fireplace. He looked around. It was as he remembered it. Every wall was lined with scrolls or apparatus, and near the back wall was the heavy table his Master used as a desk.

Behind the desk, Khamûl saw the door Er-Mûrazor described. He'd seen it before, but hadn't known where it led.

Feeling shy, he crossed the room and went around the desk to reach the door. Don't snoop, he told himself. Even so, his eyes strayed to his Master's desk. Sheets of paper littered its surface. He didn't touch anything, but he leaned over to look. Lists, addition, and sketches, and some writing in a language Khamûl didn't know.

He came back to the task at hand. He knocked, even though the door was ajar. There was no answer. He pushed the door gently, and it opened just enough to let him to slip through into the room behind it.

Khamûl had never been in his Master's bedroom before, much less seen him asleep. It was awkward.

The window on the far wall was dominated by the view of the BurningMountain. Orange light filled the room. It flickered, making it hard to see into the shadowed parts of the room.

When his eyes adjusted, he saw a table, a chest, and rumpled sheets on a narrow bed. The room was small and plainly furnished, the quarters of a servant. At first, he thought he was in the wrong place. Then he saw a bare shoulder, and dark hair tangled across the pillow.

"My Lord? My Lord Zigur? Something's happened."

Khamûl waited, then walked over to the bed. He put a hand on his Master's shoulder and shook him. Nothing.

"Sauron. Wake up." His Master hated that name. Khamûl hoped it would reach him through the depths of sleep, but it didn't. Khamûl shook him again.

"Mairon."

"Wha .. ?" His eyes popped open. He stirred, and Khamûl saw the glint of gold on his hand.

"The Main Gate has been sabotaged. It was discovered just before it swung open."

"Toss me my clothes." he said, pointing to the foot of the bed.

**The Traitor**

The leadership met in the Council Chamber at Noon the next day.

"We found the traitor who sabotaged the Gate. He revealed the names of his co-conspirators. They're about to be arrested." said Er-Mûrazor.

"I conducted the interrogation, and Lord Zigur witnessed it." Uvatha, the cruelest of the Nazgûl, was good at his work. In fact, he enjoyed it.

"What was the traitor's motive?" asked Khamûl.

"He read one of those propaganda messages and thought he could end the siege early." said Ren.

"I knew it had something to do with those rocks. If they weren't being heaved over the walls all the time, our people would never have gotten the idea." said Khamûl.

"I will interrogate the co-conspirators when they're brought in." said Uvatha. "But I have a favor to ask of those among you who are squeamish. Don't watch. I don't want to be stepping over your body when you faint."

Sauron looked embarrassed.

"I did not faint. I lay on the floor to avoid fainting."

"If you say so." said Uvatha.

"That leads me to another point. The rocks carry two messages, 'Open the Gates' and 'Assassinate Zigur'. We ignored them up until now, except to clean them up and get rid of them. But after this incident, I think we need to start taking them seriously." said Er-Mûrazor.

"Meaning?"

"Conduct yourself as if someone's trying to assassinate you. Limit access to your person. Lock and your bedroom door, and post a pair of your most trusted guards outside. Take precautions against poison. Wear mail under your clothes. And Mairon, whatever you do, don't go anywhere near a steep drop."

**Poison**

Khamûl sat in the Common Room in the evening, playing chess with Akhorahil. People who were good at court intrigue tended to be good at chess. Khamûl was loosing badly. He looked up when servant approached them.

"Lord Akhorahil? Lord Zigur requires you."

Akhorahil got to his feet and followed him. Khamûl trailed in their wake.

"What happened?" asked Khamûl.

The servant lowered his voice. "Lord Mûrazor is with him now. He thinks it's poison."

They climbed several flights of stairs and came to a communal washroom. Their Master was lying on the floor, curled up and clutching his stomach. Er-Mûrazor was kneeling beside him.

Akhorahil went in and took over. He examined their Master while grilling him about the symptoms of poison.

"What did you eat? Are your ears ringing? Are you seeing double? Look at the light, let me see your eyes."

"Prince Tindomul?" Er-Mûrazor looked up. "Has he had seizures? Become disoriented? Been unconscious?"

Akhorahil had known Er-Mûrazôr in life, at his father's court in Armenelos, and still called him by his given name.

Akhorahil turned back to the servant. "Sirrah, will you ask one of my assistants to bring me a mortar and pestle, and a quantity of charcoal? And castor oil, and some ipecac root. And bring me a basin."

"Khamûl, will you please excuse us? As soon as I know anything, I'll send word."

Khamûl retreated down the hallway a few paces. Why did the Chief of the Nazgûl get to stay? He was a general, not a medic.

Khamûl stole a look into the room. His Master was still on the floor. Er-Mûrazor was kneeling beside him, holding his hand.

A medic pushed past Khamûl and handed Akhorahil a glass of powered charcoal dissolved in milk and some phials, the remedies for poison.

"I'm sorry, this is going to be unpleasant." Akhorahil said to their Master. He started to open the phials.

A servant approached Khamûl and bowed to him. "Lord Khamûl, do you know where Lord Akhorahil is? He's needed right away. A dozen people downstairs have fallen ill."

Akhorahil came out and spoke to him for a few minutes.

"It's Ptomaine poisoning. The cooks opened a barrel of beef this morning that was spoiled. They thought it would be safe to use if they cooked it long enough. I'm afraid this will happen more and more often, as we start to open more casks that are spoiled."

He gave the phials back to the medic.

"It looks like we won't need these, after all."

Akhorahil returned to the washroom and said to their Master. "You're in no danger. Do you want to be helped to bed, or stay here?"

Sauron started to lift his head from the flagstones, but laid it down again and shut his eyes.

"I think he prefers to stay here." said the Chief of the Nazgûl.


	4. Year 4 Waiting

**Year 4 – Waiting**

Second Age 3438

**Cheating At Chess**

Khamûl watched Sauron playing chess against Akhorahil. Akhorahil looked up when one of his medics approached him. He turned around and they spoke of medical matters for a minute or two.

While Akhorahil was busy, Sauron touched one piece, and then another, as if considering his next move.

The man left, and Akhorahil turned his attention back to the board.

"I adjust." Akhorahil said.

He took a bishop from among the captured pieces at Sauron's elbow and put it back on the board. Khamûl expected his Master to object, but he didn't. The game resumed.

I'm not sure what just happened, but I think Akhorahil just accused Sauron of cheating. But, master politician that he is, he did it so politely our Master didn't take offense.

But I was watching him the whole time. How on earth did Sauron get that piece off the board while Akhorahil's back was turned?


	5. Year 7 Single Combat

**Year 7 – Single Combat**

Second Age 3441

**Out of Food**

Lugbúrz had been under siege for seven years. They had been living on harness leather and nettle tea these last few months, but even that ran out several days ago.

Sauron summoned his most powerful servants to the Great Council Chamber to discuss their options. Khamûl looked at his Master, who was leaning against the door frame. His eyes were too big for his face, and his clothes had been taken in, and taken in again, but were still too loose.

"We can't hold out any longer." said Sauron.

"Will you ask for terms?" said his Chief Ambassador, a Black Númenorian. "Perhaps you and your lieutenants would be granted safe passage, in exchange for yielding the fortress."

"No, they don't want the fortress, they want me." said Sauron.

"You can't let them take you prisoner. They want revenge." said the Chief of the Nazgûl.

"He's right. Tar-Elendil holds you responsible for the death of his son Anárion last year." said the Chief Ambassador.

Sauron drummed his fingers on the table. Khamûl's eye was drawn to the flash of gold. Then his hand was still. He looked like he'd reached a decision.

"What then?" said the Chief Ambassador, his pen over a sheet of parchment.

"Ask Gil-galad to meet me in single combat. A duel to the death. I'm stronger. I can beat him. Even if he knows it, he won't refuse me. It would be a stain on his honor."

Sauron stood up. He swayed and grabbed the edge of the table, his face pale. _If he doesn't get something to eat before going out to meet the Elvish king, it will end badly_, Khamûl thought.

**Out of Water**

Gil-galad looked up when one of his lieutenants entered the tent.

"My Lord, we're almost completely out of water."

He held a sheath of papers covered with columns of numbers.

"We've been on half-rations for weeks. The troops are starting to complain."

Gil-galad considered their situation. It hadn't rained all summer. He had been counting on at least one good cloudburst. It rained in the mountains to the east of here, but not on the plane of Gorgoroth itself.

If they ran out of water completely, they won't be able to march out of here. The men knew it, and they were getting restless.

"How much longer can we last, and still have enough to make it back to the marshes?"

"We can keep going, although there's a possibility you're about to have a rebellion on your hands." If there was mutiny in the ranks, they'd have to lift the siege. He regretted it deeply. All those lives lost, after they'd come so close.

**The Challenge**

An emissary from Mordor approached Gil-galad's camp under a flag of truce. Gil-galad sent for the other leaders, Elendil, Thranduil, and Durin and their advisors. When the others arrived, he admitted the emissary.

"I come to discuss terms. My Master will yield the fortress. In return, he requests safe passage for himself and his people."

Gil-galad looked around the table. Almost imperceptibly, Elendil shook his head no. So did Thranduil. Someone laughed but turned it into a cough.

"Let me make you a counteroffer. Turn him over, and the rest of you will go free. Refuse, and we will sit out here until every living creature within the fortress dies of starvation." said Gil-galad.

"He doesn't have to agree to it. The rest of you outnumber him." said Durin.

"What will you do to him?" asked the emissary.

"He'll be put to death." said Gil-galad.

"Is this about revenge?" asked the emissary.

"We don't want revenge, we just want him gone. He won't suffer, if that's what you're worried about." Elendil said gently.

"It's about securing the peace, once and for all." said Gil-galad.

"In that case, my Master challenges you to single combat. The outcome of the duel will determine the outcome of the war."

Gil-galad was surprised. He had always believed Sauron was a coward. This must be a measure of his desperation. "Let us confer. Wait outside, and I will give you my answer when we've discussed it." Gil-galad told him.

After the emissary left the tent, they all began to talk at once.

"I think I can beat him." Gil-galad said.

"Maybe you can. But win or lose, you may die, too." said Elrond.

"Sauron is an unusually powerful Maia, at least the equal of Gothmog. You remember Gothmog, don't you? Fëanor fought him and lost. Fingon fought him and lost. Ecthelion fought him and won, but later died of his injuries. There's a pattern here. Win or lose, your own life is probably forfeit." said Círdan.

"Círdan is mistaken about one thing. Sauron isn't like Gothmog." Elrond said. "Sauron is more dangerous."

Gil-galad was torn, but their dwindling supply of water forced his hand. Each of them had given ten years of his life to this campaign. In just a few days, they'd have to give it up and admit defeat. Sauron couldn't have known it, but this challenge was a gift. It gave them a chance to resolve the matter once and for all. He called the emissary back.

"I have decided to accept the challenge. I agree to meet your Master in single combat." Gil-galad's voice was grim.

"He will meet you on the slopes of Orodruin tomorrow." said the emissary.

**Dwar's Dogs**

Throughout the siege, they sent sortie after sortie out through the sally ports to harass the besieging forces. After a while, killing enemy soldiers was not the only reasons they went out. They were also trying to capture their food supplies.

Khamûl went down to a sally port to meet a party of orcs returning from a raid. They carried the body of a fallen Elven warrior.

Khamûl started yelling at them. "What were you thinking? Do you plan to ransom his body back to his family?"

The fallen soldier wore armor, so his family must be well-to-do, but he hadn't been a nobleman or a great lord. Besides, money was useless now. Khamûl would have passed up a handful of gold coins for one piece of bread and butter.

The orcs looked embarrassed. "It was the Chief of the Nazgûl orders. He said to bring back as many of the fallen as we could."

"Did he say why he wanted ….. oh!"

Khamûl turned on his heel and went looking for Er-Mûrazôr. He found him on the curtain wall, looking down as the machines of war flung stones at the attackers.

"Explain yourself." Khamûl demanded.

"Excuse me?"

"Our Master is about to go out to meet the Elven King to fight a duel that will decide all our fates when he's fainting from hunger. Perhaps you took it upon yourself to do something about it."

"I don't know what you're talking about." said Er-Mûrazôr, his voice neutral. He stared straight ahead.

"Well then, how would you tell the story?"

"When we took Dwar's dogs for the stew pot, he hid one of them from us. We just discovered it today."

"Just make sure you tell Dwar, so he'll know he had an extra dog." said Khamûl.

**Practice Session**

Early on the morning on the day they would leave the fortress to meet the challengers, Sauron followed Er-Mûrazor out onto the courtyard used for sword practice. Er-Mûrazor was one of the finest swordsmen in Mordor. When his other duties allowed him some free time, he conducted the practice sessions for advanced fighters.

"I really don't think this is necessary. I know how to use a sword. I led a conquering army across Arda before you were even born." said Sauron.

"We're not here to try new techniques. We're here to decide how you're going to fight this particular duel."

Er-Mûrazor knelt to tighten the straps of Sauron's armor. He pulled the straps so tight they hurt. Sauron protested, but Er-Mûrazor just said, "Stop complaining. You'll get used to it in a few minutes, and in combat, you won't even notice."

When he fastened a buckle high up on the inside of the thigh, Sauron said, "Um, if you keep that up, we'll have to announce our betrothal." Er-Mûrazor ignored him and kept working. It was as if he were tacking up a horse.

Sauron couldn't remember the last time his second-in-command touched him. Er-Mûrazor was reserved and formal. When he greeted a close friend after a long absence, he would nod his head slightly, rather than embrace like other people did.

He was Sauron's closest friend, but lately he'd become distant and preoccupied. He approached the task as if he were tacking up a horse.

When Er-Mûrazor finished, Sauron went over to the stand where they kept the wooden practice weapons and chose one of the heaviest two-handed swords. Then he approached the straw dummies. Er-Mûrazor called out all the normal components of a swordsman's repertoire, slash, thrust, undercut, backhand, side. Sauron executed each of them with confidence.

"Go through the sequence again" said Er-Mûrazor. "And when I say stop, freeze where you are." Sauron began again, but Er-Mûrazor called a halt almost right away. His second-in-command studied him, frowning. He made some small adjustments to Sauron's stance, lifting his chin and turning his wrist outward to an uncomfortable angle. _He could be sculpting clay. It's like he's forgotten I'm here._ Sauron thought.

They repeated the drill a third time. When he was done, Sauron lowered his practice weapon and looked up, breathing hard. He felt satisfied with how well he'd done. Er-Mûrazor looked at him with a critical eye.

"I'm trying to say this in the nicest possible way. You're not very good." he said at last.

Sauron started to argue, but Er-Mûrazor held up a hand for silence. "There isn't time to retrain you. We'll identify your best moves. Those are the only ones you'll use in the contest today."

Er-Mûrazor picked up a practice weapon. He stood before Sauron and saluted. They raised their weapons. When Sauron struck a blow, Er-Mûrazor blocked it. When he feinted, Er-Mûrazor saw right through the deception. When he defended himself, Er-Mûrazor went around his defenses. _It's like sparring with Eönwë_.[1] _No wonder I'm getting trounced._ Sauron thought.

Er-Mûrazor was beating him easily. Sauron was unable to predict where the attacks were coming from, whether they were real or feint. He tried to probe the thoughts of his most powerful servant, but Er-Mûrazor called him on it. "Stop that. You won't be able to read your opponent's thoughts in combat, so don't do it in practice."

The bout ended when Er-Mûrazor sent his weapon flying. They took a break, and he offered an assessment of Sauron's skills. "You have no finesse at all. That means you can't do feints, complicated parries, and subtle evasive moves. At least not well. Stick with direct attacks and blocks."

"And there's one more thing. You're leaving whole regions of your body undefended." He put a hand on Sauron's elbow. "You're holding your arm too far from your body. Your opponent could get a sword tip under it and land a blow right here." he said, touching Sauron's left side just below the ribs. "But there's not time to fix it now. Just keep your body turned at an angle so you don't expose your left side."

Er-Mûrazor regarded him dispassionately. "But I think we have enough to work with. You're strong, and you don't tire easily. You're extremely aggressive. You strike hard and fast, and you keep on striking." Er-Mûrazor handed him a wooden mace. "Try this."

**Gil-galad**

Sauron left through one of the sally ports. Er-Mûrazôr carried his standard, but otherwise they were alone. Because Gil-galad issued the challenge, it was Sauron's right to pick the place. He chose the slopes of Orodruin, where his power was greatest.

They made their way to the site where the challenge would be fought. Orodruin was erupting hard. The fumes made it difficult to see anything at a distance, but he thought he could make out a small group of armed men approaching. The delicate shape and detail of their armor marked them as Elvish.

As they drew closer, he thought he recognized their leader, Gil-galad. They had met once before, when Sauron showed up at the border of Lindon and Gil-galad and Elrond turned him away. The Elvish king was hiking up the slope with his second-in-command, Elrond Peredhel. And someone else, Círdan the Shipwright?

Gil-galad carried a lance tipped with a scimitar-like blade. Its cutting edge looked razor-sharp. Sauron had heard of the weapon. The Elves called it Aeglos, or 'icicle'.

Sauron sized up his opponent. This contest was the climax of tensions building for centuries, and he welcomed it. He and Gil-galad were almost equally matched. Gil-galad's finesse and skill was matched by Sauron's strength and aggression, Gil-galad's flexible steel blade against Sauron's heavy iron mace. Sauron thought he could beat him.

The two groups stopped at opposite sides of a small ledge, the only level place on the slope. Gil-galad acknowledged Sauron with a nod.

Gil-galad issued the formal challenge.

"Lord of the Black Land, I challenge you to single combat for possession of this land. What say you?" said Gil-galad.

Sauron remembered that Gil-galad's grandfather challenged Melkor to single combat, and was slain. Apparently Gil-galad hadn't learned from the experience.

"I accept your challenge." said Sauron. He was enjoying this.

This was single combat, so their followers were asked to withdraw. It was the custom, for a contest of this nature, for supporters watch from a point too far away to help the combatants.

Er-Mûrazor went back the way he came. Elrond and Círdan retreated down the slope in the direction of their own camp. When they reached the required distance, they stopped and turned around. From their posture, it was obvious they were planning to watch. Sauron didn't look over his shoulder, but he assumed Er-Mûrazor was doing the same.

The combatants stood across from each other. Gil-galad crossed his fist across his body in a salute. Sauron returned the salute. They circled each other, their weapons ready.

Gil-galad lowered the tip of his lance to hold Sauron off at a distance. Sauron kept just out of range and smacked the tip of the lance with a blow from his mace. He dodged under the wicked-looking blade and closed the distance between them. The lance should have been useless at close range, but Gil-galad choked up on the shaft and held it close to the base of the blade.

Gil-galad drew his sword, but Sauron struck first. Gil-galad twisted his body and narrowly avoided the heavy mace. At the same time, he slashed down with his flexible blade. Sauron moved to block it, but at the last minute, Gil-galad flicked his wrist and came under Sauron's defenses. Sauron felt the blow land harmlessly on his hauberk. It rattled him. He shouldn't have fallen for such an obvious feint.

Sauron was less agile than Gil-galad, and couldn't outmaneuver him or deceive him with a feint, but he was stronger. Sauron swung the mace, but missed. Gil-galad had an uncanny ability to dance out of the way.

Sauron was thinking about where to strike on the backhand swing when Gil-galad darted in on his left side and struck Sauron in the stomach so hard it made him stagger backwards. It didn't hurt, but it surprised him. The complicated blade must have caught in Sauron's armor. Gil-galad yanked on the shaft, unable to free it. Sauron laughed.

The mace was useless at such close range. They were almost face to face. Their eyes met through the eye slits of their helmets. Sauron thought Gil-galad would be terrified of him, but there was no fear in Gil-galad's eyes, only determination.

Sauron pulled out a dagger and stabbed his enemy in the face through the eye slits. Gil-galad shrieked and jerked backwards with such force, the tip of his lance pulled free. The last ten inches of the blade were red. _A trick of the light._ Sauron brought the mace down as hard as he could. The wooden shaft of the lance shattered under the impact.

Gil-galad stared at his ruined weapon, stunned. He dropped his defenses for just a moment, but it was enough. Sauron swung the mace and struck the sword arm between shoulder and elbow. The bone snapped. His enemy collapsed to his knees, clutching his injured arm. His fingers flopped uselessly, and his sword fell to the ground.

Under normal circumstances, the victor would have asked, "Do you yield?" and the vanquished one would have said "Yes", or if he were beyond speech, would have nodded. Then it would be over. But this contest was to the death. Had the outcome been reversed, Sauron felt sure Gil-galad would not spare him.

Sauron walked up to his vanquished foe. _Let's finish this_, he thought.

Gil-galad was still clutching his arm. His chest was heaving. Sauron watched him. Gil-galad kept his eyes on the ground. His lips moved in prayer. Sauron paused for a moment. Then he gripped the mace with both hands, lifted it high above his head, and brought it down with all his strength.

**Elendil**

The contest was over. He had won. He let the mace slip through his fingers and fall to the ground. He stood there, breathing hard. He looked around for his people. Er-Mûrazor and several others were approaching from the distance.

Before his own people reached him, a huge man raced up the slope and knelt beside Gil-galad's motionless form. His standard bearer caught up with him a moment later, carrying a banner with seven stars and a white tree. Sauron guessed the man was Tar-Elendil, King of Gondor. He must have witnessed the duel with the Elven King, although Sauron hadn't seen him arrive with Gil-galad's group.

Elendil looked up at Sauron with hatred. "Remember the terms of our agreement. The Leader of the Black Land and the Leader of the Last Alliance will meet in single combat. But the Alliance has two leaders, Gil-galad and myself. You must defeat us both before you are declared the victor."

He wasn't wrong. Legally, the agreement could be interpreted that way. Sauron could have argued against it, but there was something else. He didn't want to look like a coward. And he thought he could win. Gil-galad was the greatest warrior in the Alliance, and Sauron defeated him. He would defeat the King of Gondor as well.

"I challenge you to single combat." said Elendil.

"I accept your challenge", Sauron started to say, but was overtaken by a fit of coughing._ Fumes from Orodruin_, he thought. He nodded his acceptance instead.

Elendil straightened up and faced him across the narrow distance between them. Sauron realized he'd underestimated Elendil's size and strength. Sauron was tall by Númenorian standards, but Elendil was a giant.[2]

The duel began before Sauron had a chance to recover from the duel with Gil-galad. Elendil was fresh. He could have asked for a delay, but he didn't want anyone to think he lacked courage. He planned to move slowly at first, circling and staying out of range until he could catch his breath.

Sauron struck the first blow, but fatigue made him clumsy and it landed wide. Elendil parried with a backhanded cut that left Sauron's right arm numb. Elendil's next blow found its mark as well. Sauron was breathing hard. His lungs gurgled as if he were breathing underwater. He coughed, and his mouth filled with blood.

Sauron raised the mace high above his head, but before he brought it down, Elendil swung the great two handed sword and struck him in the side, breaking his ribs. The ground tipped beneath his feet. He stumbled but recovered. He tried to raise the mace again, but no longer could.

He was looking through a tunnel. Bright spots swam before his eyes. He knew he was going to faint, and when that happened, he was finished. He had only one move left. He would throw himself on the King of Gondor and use his weight and the heat of his body as a weapon.

His vision was almost gone. It was time. He took a running step and collided with Elendil as hard as he could, knocking him off balance. He heard a muffled curse. He felt himself falling and clutched at his enemy for balance. They must have hit the ground together, but he never felt it.

* * *

[1] Eönwë was the greatest swordsman in Ea.

[2] Elendil the Tall - 'Tolkien put his height at "more than man high by nearly half a _ranga_" or 8' tall. (JRRT, Unfinished Tales) Sauron was 'large, but not gigantic'. (JRRT, letter 246) My best guess is he was 7' tall, like Isildur.


End file.
